Paper Cranes
by Saruno Hadaki
Summary: One-shot. UsUK. "I love your eyebrows. I love your honesty. I love that you're terrible at lying. I love that I can tell when you've tried to thin your eyebrows because they'll be lopsided the next day. I love that you sleep diagonally on the bed..." Alfred decides to tell Arthur what, exactly, he loves about him after confessing what he hates the most the day prior.


Arthur loved to argue. He would complain about anything, Alfred learned, from clothing that was folded wrong to Alfred's apparently "shoddy" taste buds. He could complain whilst reclining in a seat, behind his desk, even, on rare occasions, in public. Alfred didn't know what it was about the bushy-browed Brit that made it so easy to please him, but oftentimes when Arthur began a rant about something, Alfred could either see it coming and managed to avoid a scuffle or ended up neck-deep in the argument. In the way Alfred saw things, Arthur should have been flattered that he was wasting all his time pushing around pointless arguments just because he thought it would help Arthur blow off steam. Little did he know that, each time he bit back with a comment he didn't actually mean or an observance that Arthur would remember with bitter resentment, he wasn't helping Arthur relax at all.

It wasn't until years into their relationship that the condition of their arguing lessened even slightly. In fact, in the beginning it doubled. When Alfred moved in with the Brit, he found himself exposed to Arthur's full arsenal of sarcastic remarks, heinous glares, and some of the most colorful, if not offensive, remarks the American would ever hear in his lifetime. At first, Alfred had trouble adjusting to hearing Arthur's complaints. He had been caught, on numerous occasions, making a mess, whence Arthur would raise his voice to an appropriate scolding level and tell him to clean it up pronto (not that he actually said it like that, Heaven forbid). It was like moving back into his parent's house, and in that regard he hated it.

It wasn't as bad as it sounded, given that Arthur had become less immune to Alfred's hugs, kisses, and goading to watch Netflix with him late at night (Doctor Who had become a shared passion in recent months). Arthur didn't complain as much when Alfred caught him off-guard and crushed him with one of his bear hugs or slipped a kiss against his smooth cheek (or sometimes lips, if Alfred thought he could get away scuffle-free). There was even (at least) one time out of each month when Arthur would allow themselves the pleasure of a make-out session on the couch.

Alfred regained his vigor and sunshine and developed to Arthur's gruff voice, finding ways to poke at Eyebrows when he spilled soda on the carpet before he could make a big deal out of it. He would clean it up before Arthur got miffed enough to do it himself, then returned to playing videogames, scrolling through Tumblr, or whatever else he was occupied with.

Unfortunately, however, there was only so much Alfred could take of the useless bickering and the feeling that Arthur's tongue was sandpaper before he decided to say something.

* * *

"I swear Alfred, sometimes I don't understand how you could get by without me," Arthur grumbled. He was currently picking up videogames off the carpet and storing them away in the cabinet underneath their flat screen. Alfred watched from the couch, his sock-covered feet propped up on the coffee table that Arthur had warned him was for "cups only" thousands of times.

"I don't see what the big deal is; I was going to pick them up the next time I stood," Alfred replied, huffing when Arthur sent him the Death Glare over his shoulder. "All I'm saying is that you're wasting time when you go around looking for messes to clean up. Unless we have visitors coming or somethin' then I really don't see the use in picking up my videogames each day. I was going to take care of them eventually anyways."

It was important to note that Alfred rarely complained when Arthur cleaned for him, mainly because he didn't want Arthur to feel as though his efforts to keep the house clean were taken for granted and, to a lesser extent, because he was grateful that Arthur helped clean at all (although Alfred repeatedly complained when he was blamed for being messy-Arthur cleaned up messes so quickly that he rarely got the chance to clean them up himself).

Arthur stood then, dusting off his jeans even though they were spotless. "By the sound of it, I'm the only one preventing this place from becoming a pigsty," he countered, tongue as sharp as ever.

Alfred began to wonder whether Arthur practiced comebacks in his sleep. "Maybe if you gave me a chance to clean up for myself then you'd see that you're wrong," he idly replied, deliberately avoiding eye contact even though he knew that doing so was one of Arthur's pet peeves.

"Be realistic Alfred, we both know that you've never cleaned anything in this house unless I've asked you to."

"Or maybe I have and you just never noticed because my cleaning doesn't meet your standards."

"You know what my standards are, Alfred. Shouldn't you know how to meet them by now?"

"Apparently not." Alfred raised his eyes to Arthur's and squinted at the perfectly green, round irises. How could a color so calm and beautiful have such a fire inside them? Why was it that Alfred always had such a hard time looking at those emeralds, even though he had told himself that they didn't bother him?

When Arthur held his gaze but said nothing, Alfred took the chance to bite back, to be the one, for once, to hit the other where it hurt before he had a chance to turn away and act as though he hadn't been twisting the knife in his wound, so to speak.

"At least I thank you when you clean for me, unlike you! You never thank me when I cook or do the dishes, never say 'I missed you' when I come back from work or a trip... If I remember right, the last time you said 'I love you' was what... over a month ago? Why do you spend your time harassing me about being clean when you don't even have the respect to treat me like your boyfriend? Why is it that you spend more time finding things to nitpick about than you do hugging or talking with me? Why can't you stop being uptight for even one day and just..."

Alfred stopped to assess the torn look on Arthur's face, the slumped shoulders and dejected atmosphere the room assumed. This time he wasn't going to apologize; the faucet was on now and he was letting the words flow. This was his retribution for never having the chance to complain, never having the luxury to because he worried about how Arthur might have reacted. Now that he spoke, he didn't regret saying everything he had and was happy Arthur had been there to hear them, the look on his face the most satisfactory result Alfred could have wished for.

Arthur's thick eyebrows drew downwards on his face and he scowled. He made to say something then stopped himself before any words left his mouth. Then, very slowly, he drawled, "If that's so, then what could you possibly love about me? According to you I'm not your boyfriend at all, and if that's the case, then you can get your shite and leave because I'm not interested in wasting my time with you anymore."

Okay, that stung. More than Alfred would admit it did. He lowered his legs from the coffee table and watched Arthur as he speed-walked himself out of the room, thinking that this had made a drastic turn in the wrong direction. Arthur hadn't even given Alfred the chance to say anything.

Oh well. Maybe things would calm down in a few hours, perhaps Arthur would forget about it and forgive Alfred when he walked back in and saw that he hadn't packed anything (not that he ever would!). Instead, he reached for the remote and flipped through TV channels until he found something worth his attention.

Hours later, Arthur still hadn't shown his face. The guilt was beginning to creep up on Alfred, despite his best attempts to stave it off. He cast glances around the house at the slightest creak or whistle of the wind, expecting to see Arthur standing there. Alfred was due to be disappointed when, after the sun had set, Arthur still hadn't made an appearance, in the kitchen on otherwise. No footsteps creaked underneath the weight of the floorboards, no doors swung open to reveal Arthur behind them.

Alfred resigned himself to the reality that he would have to apologize to Arthur for (quite obviously) hurting his feelings, even though he had been certain that he had made the right decision in telling Arthur how he actually felt. He rose from the couch and made his way up the stairs and to Arthur's study. Alfred rarely entered Arthur's study unless it was to cry for attention or tell him something, usually that dinner was ready (he tried to ignore that he hadn't prepared anything for either of them tonight, which would disappointingly make both hungry later). Never had a simple trod down the hallway felt so daunting.

When Alfred reached the door of Arthur's study, he knocked first and queried, "Arthur, can we talk?" Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. Then Alfred tried again, this time with an impatient huff, "Could you open up?" Met with the same dearth of response from the other end of the door, Alfred reached for the doorknob and twisted, only to realize that Arthur had locked it. Apparently, Eyebrows wasn't playing around.

"Did you not hear me earlier when I told you to go away?" Arthur's muffled voice inquired from the other side of the door.

That stung Alfred even more than the initial comment had.

Dejected, Alfred made his way back downstairs and began to brainstorm ways he could apologize to Arthur without sounding cheesy or, even worse, insincere. The more Alfred thought about it, the more he realized that Arthur really _was_ lacking in the affection department and that he really did need to stop being so uptight and start treating Alfred like his boyfriend. However, that didn't mean there weren't any good qualities about Arthur that had made their relationship worth it. Sure, Arthur was stuffy and complained way too often about the most senseless things, but he was good deep down.

On many occasions, Arthur's bad cooking had made for some interesting bickering, and his thick eyebrows never ceased to enrapture Alfred with snickers and pokes. At least he was cute, especially when he dressed in one of those turtleneck sweaters that indicated that he was going to snuggle down and spend the day reading Shakespeare (or Sherlock, depending on the mood). He had that handsome British accent that, at times, turned a normal conversation into hilarity.

Alfred reached over and idly flipped through the sticky notes Arthur had left on the coffee table. _So much for cups only,_ Alfred though with a small, spite-filled smile. He began to think that he ought to use all of them just to stick it in Arthur's face (although at the time that probably wouldn't be a good idea). He peeled a paper off as he continued to think, ideas swimming in his mind. He could tell Arthur how much he liked the other parts of him that weren't all serious and annoying, but would Arthur even lend his attention long enough to hear all of them? What if Alfred couldn't think up enough reasons off the bat and Arthur became frustrated?

Then Alfred's eyes fell down to the sticky notes in his hand and he had an idea. If there was one thing he could do that might work, it was the same thing he had long ago done with Matthew: origami. When he and Matthew had been younger, they would sometimes send each other messages through origami butterflies, cranes, and other delicate paper things. He hadn't made origami in years, but was sure that this was one thing he could do to prove to Arthur that he was sorry.

He took the yellow notes with him to the guest room and began to fold. He adapted to a rhythm of folding, thinking of the message for each crane as they were created.

 _I love your eyebrows. I love your honesty. I love that you're terrible at lying. I love that I can tell when you've tried to thin your eyebrows because they'll be lopsided the next day. I love that you sleep diagonally on the bed. I love your scratchy turtleneck sweaters. I love how serious you pretend to be even when you're happy._

The words flowing from his pen became more ludicrous as he went on. Eventually, the wings of the crane became too small to carry all the words he wrote and he had to write them on the body or conceal them inside. When he ran out of paper, he got more. He wrote until late into the night and only stopped when he realized that Arthur would be up within the hour. Since Arthur was an early riser, Alfred had been woken up by him on more than one occasion.

Alfred rapidly hid the cranes around the house. One went underneath the coffee table, another in the fridge, at least a total of five in the pantries. Even more were hid in the bathrooms and the couple's bedroom. To top it off, Alfred left one underneath Arthur's nose whilst he still slept then, as quickly as he could, he slept in the guest room and waited for the reaction.

He felt like a child waiting for Christmas to come. His eyes peeked from underneath the blanket and stared at the alarm clock at his bedside, waiting until an appropriate time-maybe six or seven-before he "woke up" and went down to see how Arthur had reacted to the presents he had left him.

When no calls came from below and it became seven, Alfred rose from his bed and went downstairs to scout for Arthur. What he found surprised him.

Arthur sat on the couch with his hands extended to an unfolded crane. He was reading Alfred's half-conscious handwriting and smiling softly. When Alfred looked to the table, he saw that there were cranes everywhere—some were unfolded, others partially tampered with so Arthur could read the messages.

"Arthur?" Alfred's own voice shocked him when Arthur reacted so quickly.

He had been caught, it seemed, because immediately his cheeks pinked and he pushed the paper onto his lap where Alfred couldn't read. "What in blazes do you want?"

Alfred chuckled and seated himself beside Arthur, casting a cursory glance to the note in Arthur's hands. He wondered which one it was, if he could even remember.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, but it hasn't exactly been easy living with you, dude. I'm gonna be blunt: I don't appreciate it when you reprimand me for stuff that... What are you staring at?" He had thought that he could talk to Arthur seriously, but as he went on, he found that Arthur was looking at him in an odd way.

Arthur scoffed. "I know what you mean, Alfred. I'm not exactly the easiest person to live with. I'm just very surprised that you wrote these things about me... all of them. And now you're acting like it's nothing!"

Alfred couldn't understand why his voice was so full of amazement. He could tell just from looking at Arthur's beautiful eyes that he was saturated with gratitude. For what? Folding up a few birds and writing little words on the wings?

"It's... really not a big deal," Alfred replied modestly, waving away Arthur's praises. "I was just writing from the heart, y'know? I didn't want you to think I didn't love you or anything..."

Arthur sighed, glancing away to the cranes on the table. "I'm sorry I can't be a better boyfriend for you, Alfred. You were right to tell me off yesterday because it's true, I don't treat you like my significant other at all, and I'm ashamed to admit so. Sometimes I wish I were able to be as blatant like you are, but I'm not. I can't confess feelings like you do and it hurts me to know that it upsets you as badly as it does. Maybe if I weren't so shy or... or..." Arthur sighed gently, his shoulders slumping and his fingers curling around the unfolded paper crane.

Alfred curled a hand around Arthur's waist (relishing for a second that he had the license to do so) and reached for the paper in his hands.

"Don't talk like that Artie," he softly chided. "That's just how you are and it's one of the many reasons that I love you. It's something that we'll have to work on—that, and being a little less serious. Don't you want to have fun while you're still young? Leave all the grumpiness for your older years or else you won't have any happy memories to return to when you're all old and wrinkly," he joked, managing to catch Arthur's eyes for a brief second.

Arthur sighed again, this time relaxing against Arthur's arm, his shoulders going slack. "You're right. You've already proved that you love me, so why should I hold myself back? All I have to do is let loose a little, right?"

Alfred let a soft chuckle escape his lips, even as Arthur sent him one of his near-Death Glares. "What?" He inquired.

"Everything you say is so factual! You're so cute when you talk like that, like it's so easy."

He grinned as Arthur pinked at the cheeks and scowled. Then Arthur's grimace lessened and he closed his eyes, rested his head against Alfred's arm.

"I'm so grateful I have you." The words came so naturally that Alfred was shocked to hear Arthur's voice strain-free when he said it.

Alfred's heart had skipped a beat and he felt it gush, but he was still, surprisingly, alive, and oh how good it felt for that to be so. He reached down for Arthur's chin and brought it into his hand, resulting in Arthur opening his eyes in the process, and then leaned down to join their lips.

Arthur's warm breath wafted against Alfred's neck as he sighed, the gentle pecks accelerating into long, delicious kisses. Unfortunately, Arthur broke away before Alfred could go any further, probably because he didn't want to be late for work (although Alfred had a hunch that he was going to be late anyways).

Feeling one of Arthur's hands reaching for his, he looked down to find that Arthur was reaching for the origami paper he had inadvertently crushed. He revoked the paper and unfolded it, turning it to face Alfred.

 _I love how you kiss._

"Really Alfred, I know you were half asleep, but some of the things you wrote... you really had me going," Arthur mused with a beautiful smile he probably didn't even know he was wearing.

"If you don't believe me, then I'll just have to show you," Alfred mused back, reaching for another kiss, even as laughter bubbled between them.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So, what did you think? I haven't officially edited this, so I hope that Word caught most of the flukes. Anyways, I just really wanted to write this because I thought it would be fun. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.**_


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